A Treasure Reclaimed
by IcyWaters
Summary: When Heath walked out the door in "Lost Treasure," Nick didn't just lose his brother – he lost his best friend. Forgiveness doesn't come easy for the most hotheaded Barkley.


Disclaimer: _The Big Valley_ belongs to Four Star-Margate Productions and 20th Century Fox. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made. Put simply: I don't own the show or the characters.

Author's Note: I never expected the warm welcome so many of you extended after posting my first Big Valley story. This is one of the best groups of fans I've ever encountered. Thank you kindly!

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><p><strong><span>A Treasure Reclaimed<span>**

by  
>IcyWaters<p>

With a saddlebag slung over his shoulder and hat in hand, Heath slowly descended the staircase and faced the Barkley family. "Now, just…just let me say this," he struggled, "More than anybody knows, I…I appreciate what y'all have done for me and for making me a part of this family. You gave me a lot more than I deserve. I'm sorry. Anything I took now would be…would be charity."

"Charity?" Victoria Barkley repeated in disbelief. She placed her hands on her hips. "Heath Barkley, I never heard of anything so ridiculous in my entire…charity? Why, you're as much a Barkley as I am."

She took a few steps toward her blond son and raised a finger. "Now you listen to me. This family – and that includes you – this family stands together. If we're not tied by blood, then we are tied by sacrifice, work and love." Her eyes pierced him with steely determination. "Now, you fought your way in here and, by Heaven, you're going to have to fight your way out. I will not have that old history raked up again. It's done, over with, finished! You can leave, Heath, oh you can leave," she raised her finger again, "but it won't change a thing, because no matter where you go, no matter what you do, no matter what you call yourself, you'll still be a Barkley."

"I'll always want to be a Barkley," he replied, the desire clinging to his voice. Heath turned and walked toward the door. Fidgeting with the hat in his hands, he stopped for one last look back. "Thanks for everything." He grasped the handle and disappeared as the sturdy wood door closed behind him.

Nick Barkley gaped at the empty space. Just like that, he lost not only his brother, but also his best friend. He blinked hard. Was this really happening? He ran a shaky hand through his dark locks and risked a glance at Jarrod, Audra and his mother. They all stood frozen in place, staring at the same empty space where Heath should be.

"This has gone too far," he exclaimed, "I'm going to drag him back in here."

"Nick, don't," Victoria cautioned him.

"We're not really going to stand here and just let him ride off?" Nick argued, feeling like a caged tiger. "We don't know where he's going or how long he'll be gone. We may never see him again!"

Pacing the foyer, he noticed the unshed tears threatening to fall from his mother's eyes and saw the tears spilling down Audra's cheeks. Jarrod had a distant look etched on his face that chilled Nick to the bone. He witnessed that look only once before on the lawyer – when their father was killed. A rapid wave of guilt crashed into his stomach, nearly knocking the breath from his lungs; he wasn't the only one hurting.

Nick struggled to control his temper, "Look, there's no way Heath is a Sawyer, or that he's Charlie Sawyer's son; we're all agreed on that, right?"

"Of course we all agree on that," Jarrod broke from his trance. He reached out and grasped his brother's arm to calm him. "What's important now is that Heath believes it. We need to prove it otherwise."

"How can he believe that cockamamie story?" Nick muttered. "Charlie Sawyer is a con man. You told me yourself, Jarrod, he tried to sell you some sort of treasure map. How can Heath fall for this?"

"That's exactly what a talented confidence man does," Victoria elucidated. "They play on emotions – doubts and fears or greed and desire – to get intelligent people to fall for their schemes."

"It still doesn't explain anything. Heath's not greedy," Nick pointed out.

"But he may still harbor doubts about being a Barkley," Victoria sighed.

"It's been a year, he should be past all that by now," Nick replied, adamantly rejecting the idea.

Victoria moved closer to her second born. "I don't think you, or any of us, can fully grasp the turmoil Heath grapples with on a daily basis. He's faced struggles in his life that we can't begin to comprehend." She took Nick's hands into her own. "He never knew his father; he never developed the bond you shared with him. He's heard stories and anecdotes, but the connection is fleeting at best. This Mr. Sawyer is exploiting those qualms."

"I don't understand," Audra sniffed. Jarrod offered her his handkerchief and she nodded her appreciation as she dried her cheeks. "What does Mr. Sawyer stand to gain by making Heath believe he's his son?"

"Very few men will give up wealth once they get a taste of it," Jarrod answered. "If Sawyer is pulling a con on Heath, he's probably hoping Heath will pay him off to keep him quiet."

"But Heath is too honorable for that," Nick added. "He won't lie, cheat or steal – and he certainly won't pretend to be a Barkley for money." The corner of his lip curled upward. "Sawyer doesn't realize who he's dealing with."

"So once Mr. Sawyer understands that Heath left our family and there is no money, then he should give up this scheme…" Audra's expression grew hopeful. "Heath will know it's a lie and come back to us."

Jarrod lowered his head, "It may not be that simple, honey."

"What do you mean?" Audra asked in confusion.

"If Heath's doubts have surfaced and Mr. Sawyer has manipulated them," Victoria bit her lower hip in hesitation, "he may continue to be plagued by them."

"And not come back," Nick concluded miserably. He rubbed his chin, trying valiantly to suppress the urge to throw his fist into the wall or hurl his mother's vase full of flowers across the room. "Damn it," he cursed and waved a hand, "Sorry." He gritted his teeth. "What are we going to do? He's too stubborn for his own good."

"He's a Barkley," Victoria declared, pride filling her voice.

His mother's vow gave Nick a new surge of energy. He wasn't going to lose his brother without a fight. "Jarrod, you said we need to prove Sawyer wrong. How do we go about it?"

"Well, first we need to look at the public records. Sawyer must have shown Heath evidence he had a relationship with his mother. A marriage certificate would be convincing." Jarrod turned to Victoria. "Heath's spoken to you about his mother. Wasn't Leah married once?"

"Yes, her husband died in a creek. Heath doesn't know much more about the incident."

"It's a long shot, but one of us needs to travel to Strawberry and check the town records for all instances of Leah Thomson and Charles Sawyer," Jarrod instructed. "Look for marriages, deeds listing their names, court records, those types of things. I have to be in court tomorrow morning. Nick?"

"You don't have to ask me," he grinned. "I'll leave as soon as we're done here."

"Good," the lawyer nodded. "Talk to anyone still living there; see if they know someone – anyone – who might have more information, even if they moved away long ago. We can try to track those people down. When you finish there, consult the county records."

As his brother rattled off directives, Nick's brow creased in confusion. "This whole thing doesn't make sense. If Leah was married, there'd be no shame in giving birth after her husband died. A mother wouldn't let her son go through life being called a bas…" the word died on his lips.

"No, she wouldn't," Victoria confirmed. "A mother will do anything to protect her child."

"Exactly," Nick maintained. "Jarrod, are you sure we're not hunting rabbit when we ought to be hunting hare?" He blinked hard and shook his head; since when did he talk like Heath? "I mean, are you sure we're barking up the right tree?"

"Let me know when you develop a liking for bullfrog stew," Jarrod teased before his features shifted into counselor mode. "We have to begin somewhere. If you have other ideas, I'm open to suggestions."

Nick shrugged, "Proof beyond a reasonable doubt is your realm, Pappy."

"What can I do?" Audra asked.

"When Sawyer tried selling me the treasure map before departing with Heath to Strawberry the other day, I began looking into his past. He's got a long history of getting into trouble," Jarrod explained. "Audra, you can ride into Stockton and start sending wires to all the sheriffs in the region requesting records pertaining to Charles Sawyer. If we can pinpoint his whereabouts about the time Heath was conceived, it may disprove his claim."

"I'll change into my riding clothes right now." She sprinted up the stairs to her room.

"Mother," Jarrod prompted.

She grinned, "I'll stay here in case he returns home."

"I'd better get packing, I've got a long trip ahead of me," Nick patted his older brother on the shoulder. He kissed his mother on the cheek, "We're going to get him back," and took the stairs two at a time.

* * *

><p>Securing the saddlebag containing a change of clothes and enough food to last a few days to his mount, Nick reached for the bedroll. Once it was tied down, he grabbed the reins and swung onto the saddle. As they departed the stable, he spotted a horse carrying doubled-up riders approaching the house.<p>

Squinting harder, he made out Heath's form behind a slumped over figure.

"What the hell?" he muttered. "Heath!"

"Nick, I need help," his brother called.

The dark haired rancher spurred his horse on and met them at the gate surrounding the Barkley home. His eyes widened in shock. Heath struggled to keep the limp form of Charlie Sawyer in the saddle. "What happened?" he inquired while dismounting.

"Two men shot him." Heath slid off the horse. "Help me get him into the house."

They carefully lowered the semiconscious man from his perch, each Barkley wrapping one of Sawyer's arms around his neck. They lugged him to the front entrance, where Nick fiddled with the handle. The door abruptly swung open. "Heath! Nick!" Victoria gasped. "What happened?"

"He's been shot," Heath simply repeated. "We can put him in my room."

_It's not your room anymore._

Nick fought the acerbic retort from slipping off his tongue, briefly wondering where it came from. He didn't have time to dwell on it. Jarrod rushed from the library upon hearing the commotion. They managed to get Sawyer up the stairs and into bed. Victoria started tending to the wounds while Nick set off for Stockton to fetch Doctor Merar.

Along the way, he couldn't understand why he felt so…numb.

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><p>Nick showed Doctor Merar to Heath's room with Audra following close behind. Remaining in the hallway as they entered, he peered in to see Heath rising from his spot at Sawyer's bedside. He didn't wait around and made for the library. Pouring a whiskey, he downed the drink in one gulp.<p>

He strolled over to the floor-to-ceiling window and rested an arm on the wall, savoring the cool feeling as he pressed his forehead to the clear pane of glass. An hour ago, he was ready to track Heath down and drag him back here kicking and screaming. Now that his brother was upstairs, he didn't want to be in the same room with him. What was wrong with him?

Hearing footsteps approaching, Nick set the drinking glass down on the table, all the while keeping his eyes on the view outside the window. He felt his mother's piecing stare on his back.

"If you care to know, Charlie Sawyer died while you were bringing Howard here," she informed, her tone tinged with a trace of disappointment in her son's behavior.

"I guess we wasted the doctor's time."

"That's cold, even for you, Nick," Jarrod chastised.

"Heath will be down in a moment," Victoria stated. "He has something to tell you and Audra."

Nick snorted, "Is he leaving again?"

"What's gotten into you?" Jarrod prodded, moving to stand next to his brother. "You were the first one ready to set off in pursuit of Heath this afternoon and now you act like you never want to see him again."

_Maybe I don't._

Once again, he fought the acerbic retort while nearly laughing out loud at the eerie similarity of Jarrod's inquiry to the thoughts swirling in his mind a few minutes ago. He strained to find an answer when a hesitant 'hi' sounded from the doorway.

Nick turned and watched as Heath cautiously entered the library. His mother wrapped her arm around his and escorted him further into the room. "Tell them, Heath," she encouraged.

The blond cowboy's eyes drifted over the room, making brief contact with each of his siblings. He started with Jarrod and they exchanged understanding nods. Next, his gaze moved to Audra; she extracted a small smile from her brother. And then his eyes locked on Nick.

Uncertainty filled the blue depths, but Nick couldn't find it in himself to summon up any compassion. Instead, he broke the eye contact first and refilled his glass.

"Before Charlie died, he confessed the truth," Heath began, "He was married to my mother, but he left her, allowing her to believe he drowned. This happened two years before I was born."

A squeal of joy slipped from Audra and she brought her hands to her mouth in eager anticipation.

"Charlie Sawyer was not my father." Heath focused on Nick. "I know now that Tom Barkley was my father. I…I'm truly sorry for any anguish I've caused you. If you have it in your hearts to forgive me, I'd be honored if you would accept me as a member of this family again."

"Oh, Heath, of course we do," Audra exclaimed, enveloping him in a warm embrace.

Victoria and Jarrod joined in welcoming his return.

Observing the display of solidarity and family harmony from the far side of the library, it finally dawned on Nick why he felt the way he did. Heath hurt him. The pain stung worse than any broken heart, throbbed more than any punch received, ached more than any fall from a horse. In a way, it hurt even more than losing his father.

Tom Barkley was stolen from him suddenly; Heath simply walked out.

Tom Barkley didn't have a choice in his fate; Heath did.

"Nick?" Heath asked.

Everyone was staring at him now. Nick downed the drink in his hand, slammed the glass down and stormed out of the room, pushing past his blond brother in the process. He wasn't ready to forgive just yet.

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><p>Nick leaned on the wood fence surrounding the corral, staring at the wild stallion kicking up dirt inside the enclosure. Sunlight glistened off the glossy black coat and the cool breeze ruffled the animal's long mane and tail. He felt his own inner turmoil reflected in the horse as it ran back and forth, then in circles along the perimeter, back and forth some more, finally rearing high into the air, a loud neigh shattering the silence of the late afternoon.<p>

His emotions were violently swirling, ready to burst at the seams, but the eruption didn't come as expected. Nick was accustomed to settling his differences with his fists, followed by a drink afterward to show there were no more hard feelings. This went deeper than fists and whiskey.

Oh, he sure as hell felt like belting his stubborn mule of a brother across the jaw, but what would it accomplish? Nothing but a bruised jaw for Heath and a sore hand for him – and maybe he'd share in that bruised jaw if the damn mule got into his head to hit back.

He heard soft footsteps and the clinking of spurs nearing from behind, but didn't turn his head.

From the corner of his eye, he watched Heath lean against the railing a few feet to his left. The two brothers, so different in appearance – Heath's blond hair, blue eyes and broad shoulders contrasting starkly to Nick's brown hair, brown eyes and tall, lanky build – stood in silence, both looking every inch sons of Tom Barkley.

"Nick," Heath started.

"Don't Nick me," he scoffed. "You can't just walk out the door and out of our lives," his voice faltered, "then expect me to welcome you back with open arms." He shifted his position so only one elbow rested on the fence and looked at his brother. "I don't forgive that easily."

"I know you don't," Heath said softly, a hint of humor in the response, "but there's something I've got to get off my chest. Maybe you'll understand, maybe you won't, but hear me out. It's all I ask."

Nick's brow furrowed and curiosity won out over anger. "I'm listening."

Heath's attention remained on the stallion as he spoke. "When I was growing up, my mother never said a single bad word about my father. Not even when our bellies cried out for food and our clothes were too threadbare to repair anymore."

Nick turned his eyes away.

If asked a question about his upbringing, Heath provided a straightforward answer. He wasn't ashamed of his background, yet he rarely spoke in detail of the hardships he and his mother coped with. When those details did surface, Nick fought his cheeks from flushing, ashamed to realize he'd rather not hear them. One particular exchange from a few months ago still haunted him.

"_Did you ever have to steal, Heath?"_

"_No, but I came pretty close to it when I couldn't eat mud anymore."_

Damn, a part of him almost wished his brother did steal instead of going hungry. Perhaps his mother was right – that he couldn't fully grasp the turmoil Heath grappled with. Nick Barkley never wanted for anything in his life; he grew up surrounded by love and respect, friends and family, a warm and secure home, wealth and esteem. He didn't know desperation; didn't experience what it was to literally eat mud.

During long nights on the trail, Health told him about his childhood in Strawberry. In fact, Nick probably knew more about his new brother than their siblings. Heath shared tales of the troublemaking he got into, the kids he played with and the pretty girls he fancied when he got older. He laughed about the mishaps that followed him when he finally gathered the courage to ask a girl to his first dance.

"She hardly ever spoke of him in front of me, but when she did make a rare slip, there was always a smile on her lips and a sparkle in her eyes. I didn't doubt for a second that she loved him very much." Heath turned to Nick. "But I hated him."

The vehemence in those words shocked the darker haired Barkley.

"I hated him for leaving my mother. I hated him for leaving me. I hated him when my mother – a gentle, sweet, noble lady – had to work her fingers to the bone to put scraps on our table. I hated him every time it rained and our roof leaked. I learned real quick what a bastard was…"

Nick cringed at the slur.

"…and I could tolerate the name calling and the whispers aimed at me, but I hated him each time one was pointed at my mother. What kind of man does that to a woman he makes love to?"

Nick didn't have an answer. For a fleeting second, he shared his brother's hatred toward their father.

"When my mother finally told me who my father was as she lay dying, I hated him even more. How could my father be the great Thomas Barkley, one of the wealthiest and most respected men in all of California? A man who fiercely loved and protected his family…a man who stood up against all odds in support of his friends and neighbors?"

The shadow of a sad smile traced along Nick's features.

"I didn't want to believe it, but I had to. My mother never told a lie; she didn't have a deceitful bone in her body. It had to be true…" Heath drifted off. "I tried to find a logical reason to prove it wrong – that a man pretending to be Tom Barkley seduced her."

"But she had the newspaper article with his picture," Nick added softly.

Heath nodded. "I still couldn't accept that he was my father. I constantly battled with myself. If Tom Barkley truly had feelings for my mother, how could he let her live like she did? Like we did? Strawberry isn't far from Stockton; why didn't he ever check up on her?"

Nick wondered the same thing.

"Then I started thinking perhaps he did check up on her and learned about me," Heath swallowed hard and his voice grew faint, "and was ashamed. So, he kept quiet. The great Tom Barkley would never have a bastard like me."

"Heath," Nick warned.

The blond ignored him. "That's when I decided to come here once and for all to find answers. I've never admitted this to anyone," he gazed hesitantly at his brother, "deep down, a small part of me wanted to drag his name through the mud and humiliate his family."

Nick bowed his head. If their situations were reversed, he'd feel the same way.

"I had no idea who you were when we met on that rickety old bridge," Heath chuckled, "or I'd probably have gotten off my horse and hauled you down and thrown you into the river."

"Hold on, wait a minute," Nick raised an eyebrow, "What makes you think you could have thrown me into the river? It would've been the other way around." Heath chuckled again and Nick suddenly realized how much he enjoyed that sound – and how much he would miss it if the blond left.

"My jaw nearly dropped to the ground the first time I met Audra and that riding crop of hers," Heath smiled. "Boy howdy, never in a million years did I image Tom Barkley's brood so wild. I still have marks from that beating she gave me."

"Join the group," Nick quipped. "Who do you think she practiced on?"

"And when I encountered Victoria…"

His mother's name rolling off Heath's tongue sounded so strange that Nick nearly smirked. When he came to live with them, it was 'Mrs. Barkley' for what seemed the longest time until he finally relented to her requests and began calling her 'Mother.'

"…I stood in front of her today in as much awe as I did the first time she lectured me," he grinned. "Every time she looks at me, she's reminded of her husband's infidelity, yet she treats me as if I'm her own son, no different from you or Jarrod or Eugene." The respect he held for her was clearly evident. "When all of you welcomed me into your home, every doubt I harbored grew twofold."

"Why?" Nick inquired.

"It was all so foreign; the big meals, the fancy clothes, the grand mansion. Do you realize the house I grew up in would fit in the library with room to spare?" He shook his head. "You were all so poised and forgiving and here I was consumed with anger and hatred. Those weren't traits of a Barkley, so how could I be one?"

Did he actually say that? Nick started coughing and nearly doubled over in laughter. "Hello, I'm Nick Barkley," he held out a hand, "I don't believe we've met."

"You might be a hothead, Nick," he swatted the hand away, "but you don't live your life in anger."

"No, but I am on a first name basis with the sentiment," he chuckled, "And if you think we Barkleys aren't acquainted with hate and anger, you're dead wrong. We all hated the men responsible for murdering my – our – father. We could have let it rule our lives, but then they would have won. It took Jarrod to help me see that." When his brother remained silent, he prodded, "Do you still hate Tom Barkley?"

"Sometimes," Heath confessed. "After reading the letter he wrote to my mother and discovering he didn't know of my existence, I've been able to forgive him for not being there for her – and me."

"That's a good sign," Nick patted him on the shoulder. "You can't let go of a lifetime of emotions in one evening. For me, time has eroded the pain of losing him, but the sadness will always linger."

Heath's eyes drifted back to the wild stallion. "What I'm trying to get at Nick, is that I never knew Tom Barkley. We didn't go hunting and fishing together. He didn't teach me how to ride or shoot or defend myself in a fight. He didn't show me how to be a good man or how to woo a pretty girl. I had to figure it all on my own."

Nick detected the longing in his brother's voice; the longing to have a father.

"I feel as if I've gotten to know him through you, Jarrod, Audra and Eugene…"

"But?" Nick nudged.

"While Tom Barkley is my father, he was never a father to me. I've been honored to be a part of this family and God knows I want to continue on as a Barkley, but the shadow of doubt will always haunt me. How can I ever know with one hundred percent honesty that I am his son?"

"How many one hundred percent guarantees do any of us have in life?" Nick threw up his hands in frustration. "Maybe I'm not Tom Barkley's son. Hell, Audra and I don't look a bit alike, but the two of you could damn near be twins."

Heath laughed and his blue eyes twinkled mischievously. "You and Jarrod look alike, though your personalities are on opposite ends of the spectrum or the flip sides of a coin."

Nick ignored the remark. "You know what galls me most about you leaving?" he asked. At Heath's questioning gaze, he continued, "You're more like him than any of us."

"Do you really mean that?"

"Of course I do. I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it," Nick grinned. "Each us embodies his characteristics in some way. Jarrod represents Father's faith in law and justice. Audra is a shining example of his compassionate and understanding nature. Father was always interested in new advancements in equipment, just like Eugene's quest to make strides in medicine. As for me, Mother is always pointing out how I inherited his love for the ranch and his, ahem, quick temper."

"Which of his qualities do I embody?" Heath asked.

"Don't you listen to a word I say?" Nick admonished. "You're all of that. Your love for the land and the ranch, that irritating way you always look for the best qualities in people even when they're squatting on our land," he couldn't resist the dig. "You're more like Tom Barkley than any of us."

"Thank you, Nick," Heath's voice cracked. "I'm sorry for any grief I caused your family."

"There you go again, you damn mule," Nick's tone grew louder, "It's not _my_ family, it's _our_ family."

Heath affected a lopsided grin and raised his hand in a peace offering, "Friends?"

"No," Nick replied, batting the hand away this time. He almost couldn't keep a straight face at Heath's stunned expression. "We're more than friends. We're brothers. On one condition, that is."

"Hey, I'm not asking Sarah to the dance next weekend so you can have Amanda all to yourself."

"Oh, not that," Nick muttered, then reconsidered, "Hmm, that's not a bad idea."

"Forget it," Heath reiterated.

"Are you sure I can't talk you into it?" Nick joked. "Anyway, that's not it. My condition is this: First thing tomorrow morning, you and Jarrod go down to his office and start the process to legally make you Heath Barkley. No one will ever be able to take your name or your legacy away from you again."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Did you get kicked in the head by a horse today or something? Of course I'm sure about it," Nick stated incredulously, "I said it, didn't I?" He offered his hand. Heath grasped it and they shook. Before releasing the grip, Nick drew his newest brother into a hug. "Now, that wild duck Mother was up all night preparing is waiting for us and I'm hungry. Let's go eat dinner before it gets cold."

He placed a hand on Heath's shoulder and steered him towards the house. The blond chuckled when they noticed their family huddled around a window. "They're probably expecting us to come in covered in bruises and dirt."

"I can't help it if I have a hothead for a brother," Nick cracked.

Heath raised an eyebrow, "I can't believe you said that with a straight face."

Nick laughed. "Next time you pull a stupid stunt like this, I'm going to belt you."

"Now that sounds more like the brother I know," Heath joined in the laughter. "Don't worry, I won't forget it."

**The End**


End file.
